


News of Ylisstol

by Kurakynr



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: 1177, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Glenn Fraldarius Lives, Glenn Fraldarius is Robin, Plegian War Arc, Robin is Glenn Fraldarius, Robin!Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurakynr/pseuds/Kurakynr
Summary: News of Ylisstol’s fall and Exalt Emmeryn’s capture reaches Regna Ferox.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	News of Ylisstol

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Tactician of the Azure Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22143604) by [UnknownHorizom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownHorizom/pseuds/UnknownHorizom). 



> Canonically Glenn’s body was never found, just his sword and armor. And white hair does seem to be a pretty common side effect of crest experimentation. And getting turned into the Vessel of the Fell Dragon Grima is close enough, right?
> 
> And Robin’s a canon amnesiac.
> 
> AKA: Robin is Glenn Fraldarius, or at least he used to be.
> 
> _1177, Blue Sea Moon_

“Ylisstol has fallen.” For an instant, time seems to stand still as Basilio’s words echo. 

Robin’s rage burns cold, because Ylisstol is _home_. Plegia will not be keeping it for long, he swears. The city is precious to his comrades and it’s become precious to him too. And Plegia has taken it. Robin wasn’t surprised by the news, not really. He is furious though.

Once Ylisstol’s outer walls were breached there was little in the way of interior defenses so victory would be determined by a contest of strength and tactics between the invaders and defenders. Under normal circumstances Ylisstol had good odds of withstanding an assault given Ylisse’s elite were barracked there, but these were not normal circumstances.

With the Shepherds having retreated to Regna Ferox, Ylisstol’s defense was left in the hands of the Pegasus Knight Corps, the Royal Guard, and the Ylisstol City Guard. The pegasus knights were the most competent and elite fighting force in the standard Ylissean military, but they were exhausted and diminished from the Plegian border assault. They would be the biggest obstacle the Plegia would face in taking the city, but the knights would fall.

The Ylisstol City Guard was primarily made up of trained volunteers, career guardsmen, and a handful of retired knights. They were meant more to keep law and order than repel an invading army. The guard was competent, but few were soldiers. The Royal Guard would reinforce them in the city and would eventually be overwhelmed leaving nobody to defend the castle besides Emmeryn’s retainer and a handful of knights. A Plegian assault on Ylisstol would end in the capture of the capital...and exalt.

Then Chrom roars a ‘what’ at Basilio, demanding an explanation and the flow of time resumes. His voice quakes with fear and dread covered in the guise of anger and an aggressive tone. It’s not like the prince; however, his friend’s uncharacteristic behavior is telling. Robin guesses Chrom has a good idea of what Basilio will tell them next, but the prince is clinging to the hope his sister managed to escape.

‘Lissa too,’ Robin thinks, glancing towards the princess. Her casual hold on her staff has shifted to that of a vice grip—she’s steeling herself. Gently, Robin moves his hand to rest lightly on her shoulder. He’s seen Lissa do the same for Maribelle after they’d rescued her. 

“It gets worse,” Basilio said, shaking his head mournfully. “Exalt Emmeryn has been captured. As we speak, she’s being. transported to Plegia Castle to await execution. Gangrel is saying the Exalt is to be killed within the moon. Publicly.”

_Sometimes Robin hates being right._

“E-execution?” Chrom falters and stutters as a Basilio rips the prince’s last shred of hope out from under him. If the prince had been holding Falchion, Robin is sure he would have dropped it. 

“Oh Emm!” Lissa cries her sister’s name and pulls the tactician into a hug, burying her face in his shoulder with a choked sob. Robin returns the gesture, wrapping his arms around the healer. He wasn’t normally overly fond of physical contact, but...Lissa.

“It’s obviously a trap,” Flavia snorts, standing next to Basilio and hefting her blade into her shoulder. “The bastard’s not even trying to hide it. Gangrel wouldn't be waiting a moon to execute her otherwise. He’s trying to provoke you.”

“I don’t care! She’s my sister!” Chrom’s eyes are wild and desperate. Gangrel has certainly found the right button to push to accomplish that. “The Shepherds march to Plegia at once!”

“I agree with Flavia, Chrom. He wants to make us impulsive and lure the Shepherds into a trap. Gangrel wants the Fire Emblem,” Robin interjects, picking his words with care and watching Chrom’s reactions closely. “If you blindly rush in you’ll be playing right into Gangrel’s trap. The Shepherds will rescue Emmeryn, but rashness will endanger all of us. Including your sister.”

Chrom still looks ready to protest, but Flavia speaks before he can. “Exactly, Robin. Chrom, you have the support of Ylisse’s finest soldiers and the mighty warriors of Regna Ferox. Exalt Emmeryn will be saved, but we need to be as crafty as we are gutsy to pull this off.”

“You’re not alone,” Robin nods. The prince is starting to...well not relax, but unwind. “I’ll start formulating a strategy first thing tomorrow. No matter what it takes, I promise we’ll do it. _Together_.”

Chrom is silent, his reason and emotion warring with each other. Then he looks down, closing his eyes and Robin knows they have won. “...very well. I’ll leave our strategy in your hands.”

Flavia waits until both members of Ylissean royalty have left the room before turning to Robin. Her lips twist upward into a smirk which is both teasing and challenging. “Are you sure you’re up to this? Planning a war, storming Plegia Castle, the Exalt...winning this is going to be a much greater challenge than the skirmishes you’re used to dealing with. We could all die.”

“I am,” Robin answers without hesitation. He knows exactly what is at stake should he make a _mistake,_ let alone _fail_. Robin is the Shepherds’ tactician, Chrom is trusting him with more than just the rescue of his and Lissa’s sister. He’s trusting him to _win_. “And I won’t let him or you down.”

Robin _refuses_ to.

The tactician lingers in the hall for a little longer discussing other details reported by their spies before departing. As he walks out of the hall, his mind is already whirling and planning. Robin itches to head to the war room or library and start immediately, but he points his feet towards the mess hall instead.

It will be more productive if he eats now and goes to bed early so he can starts  
strategizing first thing tomorrow morning. If the tactician allows himself otherwise he’ll try to pull another all nighter. The lack of sleep will impair his judgement and compromise his work. He’ll crash in the mid afternoon and be out of commission for the next twelve to sixteen hours.

The delay is necessary, but irksome. 

Robin knows the Shepherds can take back Ylisstol. The task won’t be easy; however, the tactician is not overly concerned about his comrades ability to pull a recapture off. The sooner the better, but they can afford to be patient. Keeping hold of the Ylissean capital will cost Plegia valuable manpower and resources. But the clock is ticking on the rescue of Exalt Emmeryn. A moon is simultaneous so little and so much time. 

(Robin’s only existed for six moons—closer to five if one counts the days. He knows exactly how much time he has to work with and how much is being wasted.)

Emmeryn is important to Chrom and Lissa. He doesn’t want his friends to go through the pain of losing their precious sibling. The three siblings are the only blood family each other have. Robin closes his eyes and tries to picture having an older sister like Emmeryn and losing her. But the concept of an older sister is slippery and strange and doesn’t really fit. He can’t see himself being the younger sibling. An only child or older sibling fits him better. 

A little brother is the easiest for Robin to imagine having. A spitfire kid who follows him constantly because he looks up to Robin and desperately wants to be like his older brother. It’d get annoying sometimes. Maybe they’d bond over sword practice? It's a reasonable guess. If the tactician had learned the blade from his family (and not from the Grimleal) then it would stand to reason that his brother would be taught too? 

_A little brother,_ Robin lets himself toy with the idea for a little bit longer before he banishes it. He’s getting distracted. The tactician tries to keep his thoughts from straying towards the matter of his own forgotten family. He does not want to examine why the idea of a little brother _fit_ while the thought of sisters or older siblings felt alien and strange. 

(He might actually have one.)

“Oh Robin, please come join us,” Maribelle's voice breaks through the background chatter of the mess hall. Robin blinks, he hadn’t noticed he was already at the mess hall. 

The tactician smiles and spots the pink healer at a nearby table. She’s not alone. She and Lissa are sitting down next to each other at a table already occupied by Miriel, Donnel, Stahl, and Gaius. The group politely pause their conversation to greet the three newcomers and Maribelle primly sits down next to Donnel, beckoning Lissa to take the unoccupied seat beside her. Robin grabs the empty chair next to Gaius and across from Miriel. Conversation resumes. 

“I’m worried ‘bout my ma,” Donnel frets, pushing his fork around his empty plate anxiously. “The farm’s awful close to da border. What if dare’s ‘nother attack? Ma’s a tough old bird, but…I don’t want nothing bad to happen to her.” 

“Another attack on the farm is possible,” Robin admits as he carefully considers the situation. He won’t lie to Donnel or give the young boy anything less than an honest assessment of the war. “But an attack is unlikely, at least for the next two months, but the odds of an attack increase the more time passes. The majority of the Plegian forces are concentrated further to the west, near Ylisstol. Your farm and village are to the east and have little in the way of strategic value or wealth to plunder. Southtown will be hit first.”

“My cousins are live’n in Southtown,” Donnel wilts, and mumbles something about at least his ma being safe. Maribelle pats him on the shoulder. “Fear not Donnel, the enemy shall be too preoccupied attempting to thwart our rescue of Exalt Emmeryn to even contemplate harming your home and family.”

“Way to be comforting, Snowy,” Gaius yawns, waving a lollipop lazily in one hand. “Average and I spent the last ten minutes telling Farmboy his ma would be fine and now he’s going to be worrying about someone else.”

“Robin gave a far more accurate assessment of the situation,” Miriel points out. “And must you insist on using those silly nicknames?”

“Tis a part of my charm, Glasses.”

The mage took a deep breath before turning her attention to Robin. “Ricken and I were in the library earlier and we found a few new tomes. Spoils from a clash between a former Khan and some Plegian dark mages. Ricken’s already laid claim to one, do you have any interest in the other?”

**Author's Note:**

> I can write dialogue...it’s just something I really struggle with. Which is part of the reason I’m posting this instead of chapter 2 of Ylisstol. I’m trying to write that with dialogue too and I’m being a lot more picky about it than I was for this one. Plus no script to guide me through part of it. (Most of my stuff still won’t be using dialogue)
> 
> Plus I’ve got lots of Plegian War ideas bouncing around in my head. Robin’s first meeting with Validar...Glenn’s _opinions_ about the man and the Grimleal are deeply ingrained even if Robin doesn’t context for them.
> 
> Anyway, I am working on Ylisstol:
> 
> _“Hi! I’m Owain. What's your sword’s name? It has a name right? If you forgot to name it, can I name it? I’m really good at giving names.” The boy—Owain is a flurry of questions as he beams up at the lord with orange-brown eyes. His hair is the exact same shade of blue as Felix’s, Rodrigue numbly notes. The fluffy mess of dark blue spikes is eerily akin to Glenn’s before he had grown it out._
> 
> _“I am afraid I have neglected to give this blade a name.” Rodrigue forces a smile. “Do you have a suggestion? I can not promise I will use the name, but I might consider it if you’re as talented as you claim.”_


End file.
